


A B&E and Suicide Walk Into a Bar

by BluestruckHolly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Humor, EVERYONE is bad at everything, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Hunk is a ball of sunshine, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) Deserves Better, M/M, Matt is... Matt, Romelle and Allura are hella gay, Shadam are dads tm, Textbooks are expensive and student debt sucks, The Author Regrets Everything, Thief!keith walks in on Lance attempting to kill himself and it snowballs from there, Things That Should Be Taken Seriously Not Taken Seriously, it’s all very ridiculous, i’m sorry this is all just crack ok, pidge dresses up as Cher, that is the moral of this fic, that’s it, that’s the fic, you can see why this is not a very sensitive fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 13:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluestruckHolly/pseuds/BluestruckHolly
Summary: “I’m robbing you,” Keith says, a bit unnecessarily.The boy raises an eyebrow. He looks at Keith’s empty hands pointedly. “Well, you’re not very good at it.”Or, the crack fic about student debt that snowballed out of control very, very rapidly.





	A B&E and Suicide Walk Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is meant to be a joke. Heavy issues are dealt with extremely lightly, and are not meant to be taken seriously. Please, don’t read if you cannot handle bad humor.

Keith’s creeping into the largest bedroom when he hears the sound. It’s a weird muffled moan, the kind of noise even Matt wouldn’t make. It’s coming from a door on his left. Didn’t Shiro say this house would be empty? Keith pauses. Then he opens the door.

There’s a boy. Sitting in the bathtub. With his clothes on. God, he’s hot. Keith’s eyes snap back up to his face when he remembers he’s here because he’s stealing from this boy. A little indignantly, he notices he isn’t even surprised to see Keith here. In fact, he looks a little bored with this whole situation. “I’m robbing you,” Keith says, a bit unnecessarily.

The boy raises an eyebrow. He looks at Keith’s empty hands pointedly. “Well, you’re not very good at it.”  
Seriously? Now this guy was just going to pretend like it wasn’t his fault Keith got sidetracked? He jabs a finger at him. “Yeah, some asshole kept making these creepy noises.”

The boy huffs. “Well, _I’m_  sorry for inconveniencing you by choking a little while I tried to kill myself.” He glares. “In my _own_ home.”

Keith gapes a little. “You’re trying to kill yourself?” He looks at the bottles of pills lining the floor near the boy’s hand, all nearly full except one. That meant he wasn’t too dead, right?

“No, I just sit around fully clothed in the bath casually.” The boy sounds kinda exasperated now, which was definitely less dead than earlier. Keith’s chalking it down as a win.

“You don’t need to sit in a bath to commit suicide with pills,” Keith reasons. The boy doesn’t seem quite as taken with this logic, judging from the scowl that flits on his face. He opens his mouth to say something scathing, undoubtedly, but is interrupted by the door slamming open again. It’s Shiro. Of fucking course it’s Shiro.

“Keith,” he hisses, then looks over Keith’s shoulder. “What- what the _fuck_?” Succinctly said, Shiro. Keith nods his approval to this reaction.

“Oh, another thief, I suppose?” The boy straightens up from where he’s slouching. He waves a hand flippantly, leaning his head on the tiles. “Get along with it, then. I’ll wait.” He says this with the air of someone being greatly inconvenienced.

Shiro blinks. Then he blinks again. He turns to Keith. “What the fuck?”

Still apt, but really, the phrase is losing it’s touch now. The novelty’s wearing off. Keith sighs. “I guess he wants us to finish stealing all his stuff before he kills himself?” He glances back at the sopping boy, who is languidly observing them. “It’s unusually polite, really,” Keith muses.

“Thank you,” the boy says, placing a wet palm on his chest.

Shiro looks between Keith and the boy for several long seconds, looking increasingly like he’s questioning his own sanity. Well, it’s not like Keith can blame him. What sort of over dramatic idiot decides to soak in a tub, but attempt to overdose instead? He wasn’t even trying to drown, for God’s sakes. Unless he was trying to confuse people about his cause of death, but wouldn’t they find it in the autopsy anyway? “Hey, Shiro, do they autopsy every body that turns up dead or just the special ones?”

Shiro, very wisely, ignores him, and looks at the boy instead. “Shouldn’t you be calling the police?”

The boy spreads his hands. “Didn’t exactly bring a phone.”

“Screaming for help?” Shiro suggests.

The boy rolls his eyes. “What, and have to explain my situation? No, thanks. In fact, before you continue to strip my friends and I of our possessions, would you do a bro a solid and, y’know..” He mimes getting shot.

“We’re not _murderers_!” Keith yells, affronted. “Besides, how would we even kill you?”

Shiro gestures agreeably to this sentiment. “The pill bottles would indicate prior intent, anyway. They’ve got your fingerprints.” He shakes his head remorsefully. “Not very strong evidence for you in court.”

The boy crosses his arms in a manner very indicative of a fit. “Lawyer, robber, is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

Keith goes to sagely slap Shiro before he can respond to that, except Shiro isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Shiro is standing near the door, head titled to one side, like some sort of oversized lemur. Do lemur have sensitive ears? Keith doesn’t know. He’s not even sure what lemurs _are_ , but Shiro is looking extremely lemur-like. Shiro shushes him when he goes to say as much. “Do you hear that?”

The boy, seemingly finally taking an interest in the proceedings, leans half his body against the tub. “It could be the raccoons.”

Keith stares at him. “You keep a pet raccoon?”

“What? No! They scratch at our windows and ruin our terrace gardens.” All this is conveyed in a tone that suggests Keith should be aware of this. Before Keith comes up with an equally condescending reply, Shiro declares, “That’s a human.” He considers. “Possibly two.”

The boy sighs. “Oh, I give up.” He pulls the drain stopper, and begins the arduous task of extracting himself from the tub while bogged down by wet clothes. And socks, Jesus, what was wrong with this guy? He pauses when he’s successfully made it to the rug near the tub without slipping, and sees Shiro and Keith staring at him. “Uh?”

“What now?” Shiro asks, quite reasonably, in Keith’s opinion.

“We meet the new intruders, of course. If they’re not one of yours, they’ll be one of mine.” This is said in the tone that elitists teach their weird socialite rules in, accompanied with another sardonic eyebrow raise.

“We’re _thieves_!” Shiro cries exasperatedly.

This doesn’t impress the boy very much. He walks out the bathroom, each step a weird squelching sound that make Keith’s toes curl with the sensation of wet socks- goddamn, that guy had serious issues. He exchanges a look with Shiro. They follow the boy’s squelches.

Another boy is near the door, taking his coat off. “-bathtub is _unnecessary_ , Lance.” Keith solemnly nods. This one isn’t as pretty as the other- Lance- but he’s clearly smarter. “And who the fuck are they?”

Lance glances back at Keith and Shiro, then turns to face the new boy, waving his hand flippantly. “Oh, just some thieves trying to steal from us.”

The boy stares at Lance open-mouthedly for several moments. “ _And_?” When there’s no reply forthcoming from Lance, he gestures furiously in their direction. “What are their names?”

“I’ve been calling them Mullet Boy- which is short for Somehow-Pretty-Enough-To-Pull-Off-A-Mullet - and Killer Eyeliner in my head?” Lance offers weakly.

The boy snaps his eyes to them. “I am _so_ sorry for my roomate’s behaviour,” he says, glaring at Lance. “I’m Hunk.” He enthusiastically shakes Keith’s hand. “And what do you prefer we call you?” He turns to Shiro, disarmingly bright smile still in place.

“I’m Shiro,” Shiro says, taking Hunk’s hand. “And this is my brother, Keith.”

“Should we all really be giving out our real names to strangers?” Lance asks, now sprawled across the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Hunk rolls his eyes. “They’re code names. No one is really named Keith.”

Keith is a valid name, what the fuck? “Okay, Shiro definitely has a less real name than I do,” Keith says.

“Wow, just because he’s Asian doesn’t mean you marginalise him.”

What?! No. Keith holds up his palms. “That is _not_ what is happening here.”

“Is it really, Keith? Because you are the only white person in the room.” Shiro cocks his head at him. “Check. Mate.”

Seriously? “Whose side are you on?”

“Justice,” Shiro says heavily.

Hunk offers Shiro a fist bump, then claps his hands. “Anyway, wow, excuse my manners. Please, please, take a seat.” He herds them to the sofas. Lance’s leg is pitched over the headrest, the other falling to the ground. Keith takes a place between the V they form. Shiro settles into the loveseat. Hunk smiles genially. “What can I get you? Tea? Coffee? Lemonade?” He grimaces slightly in Keith’s direction. “Gatorade?”

Lance snorts. “I think that’s offensive. To, like, his culture.”

“I’m not racist!” Keith exclaims.

“Yeah. I was the one who had to teach him to stop clapping when the plane landed,” Shiro affirms. “I like to think I brought him up well.”

“You,” Lance points blindly in Shiro’s direction, still comfortable admiring the ceiling. “Are a hero.”

“Also, coffee for me, and lemonade for Keith, I think,” Shiro continues. ”It’s past his bedtime.”

“Ugh, Shiro,” Keith complains. Could Shiro not exhibit his weird dad tendencies around this cute boy? Was that too much to ask? They’re supposed to be _cool_. Why is Shiro not getting the memo?

“Yeah, Hunk acts like such a mom sometimes, too.” Lance smiles at Keith through his open legs.

“Uh,” says Keith, eloquently.

Hunk returns with a tray full of mugs, swatting Lance into an appropriate posture. He hands Keith a tall glass of lemonade, and gives Shiro and Lance two steaming mugs. He takes the third, smaller cup for himself, making himself comfortable on an armchair. “So,” he starts, “tell us about yourselves! What were you planning to steal?”

“The Neil deGrasse Tyson texts,” Keith answers, taking a sip of his lemonade. “Wow, this is really good.”

Hunk preens. “Thank you! I’m going to be a chef, so lemonade should be the least of my talents.”

“Oh, my best friend’s part of the culinary industry, too,” Shiro says.

“Really? I-” Hunk’s reply is interrupted by the doorbell. He raises his eyebrows significantly at Lance, who grumbles, but puts down his mug and heaves himself off the couch. Keith hurries to school his expression into something appropriately sympathetic to this unforgivable calling of the Roomate Protocol, glancing at the wet patches Lance has left all over the couch. Especially the one on the seat cushion. “That’s probably our other roommate, Allura, and her girlfriend, Romelle,” Hunk explains.

Lance’s squelches return with a set of two footfalls. “This is not Allura and Romelle,” he announces, unnecessarily, as the three take in the two very male newcomers dressed in black.

“Matt, Adam!” Keith exclaims. “Thank God. Tell them I’m not racist.”

Shiro carefully puts down his cup to greet his boyfriend with a kiss. “Lance, Hunk, this is my boyfriend, Adam.” He smiles at the man in his arms. He flourishes toward Matt. “And my best friend, Matt. The one I was telling you about!” He turns to Matt and Adam. “This is Lance, who we saved from committing suicide, and Hunk, who made us these great drinks!”

“There was no saving,” Lance says sullenly. “It was more of interrupting.”

“Oh, its nothing,” Hunk waves. “What can I get you?”

“A black coffee,” Adam says.

“Hot chocolate?” Matt asks, hopefully. “In fact, let me help you! I’m a barista, y’know.”

Great, so Matt was being himself. Keith’s _be_ _cool_ memo was now away with the wind. Hunk’s smile strains a little. “Barista,” he echoes. He leads Matt into the kitchen.

Lance takes that as a cue to squelch into his seat, sprawled around Keith as before. “Well, Adam, what brings you to our humble abode?” he asks the ceiling.

“Takashi and Keith were taking too long to get back,” Adam says, arranging his limbs around Shiro in the loveseat. “We got bored.”

“Well, you’re definitely dressed more appropriately than they are,” Lance agrees, eyeing Keith. “Who wears a red crop jacket and _fingerless_ gloves to a theft?”

“In my defence, I told Keith that it defeated the entire purpose,” Shiro says.

Lance turns a judgemental eye to Shiro. “And a bright Hawaiian shirt doesn’t?”

“It’s reverse psychology!” Shiro says, with the manner of someone who’s had this conversation several times. Adam sighs with the manner of someone who’s had that conversation several times. He exchanges a look with Lance, who nods sympathetically. Keith isn’t sure how much he likes Shiro’s boyfriend and his soon-to-be-boyfriend’s alliance.

Hunk places another mug on the coffee table in front of Adam, and returns to his armchair. He aims another bright smile at the group. “So, where were we?”

Matt, holding his own mug, makes his way to the part of the couch that Lance’s head is resting against. “We were just about to tell them all the little details about the plan,” Shiro tells Adam excitedly, the way new parents talk about their one month old blobs.

Keith growls a little. Matt turns around and sits on the ground between Keith and Adam’s legs. Lance looks entirely too amused with this situation. “Did you tell them about my chubby bunny record?” Matt asks, ignoring Keith’s glare.

“What?” Shiro asks, incredulously. “No!”

“You said you talked about me!” Matt is beginning to sound extremely betrayed. “Obviously that’s the first thing you should have mentioned. Like, Pokemon stats. You list my greatest achievements first.”

Adam considers this, then shrugs at Shiro. “He’s not wrong.”

“Don’t you have a degree in non-linear dynamics?” Keith asks.

“Against fitting 17 marshmallows in my mouth?” Matt shakes his head sadly. “Oh, Keith. Yet so much to learn.”

Lance straightens up. “I bet I can do twenty.” Keith’s brain short-circuits a little.

Matt snorts explosively, his hot chocolate spilling onto Keith’s boot. “You can _try_. It all starts tasting like soggy feet after a while. Even I couldn’t take it.”

“And he once grabbed the two week old piece of fish that the dog had chewed on with no hesitation,” Shiro affirms, a deep abiding respect for Matt’s gross tendencies in his voice.

“Why do you know what soggy feet taste like?” Lance asks.

“Shut up,” Matt hisses.

“Took the fish?” Hunk, bless him, sounds confused by this development. “What, like, a dare?”

“No,” Adam answers. “That’s just what it means to be Matt.”

Hunk nods empathetically. “Lance once forced Plachu’s mouth open and dug his red skittle out.”

“Oh, Keith named our dog Kosmo, because he’s some sort of idiot,” Shiro says. Keith takes a long sip from his lemonade. “I wanted him to keep some of his culture, though, so I let it slide.” Lance nods in great understanding.

“Plachu’s one of the raccoons, actually.” Hunk curls his fingers around his cup, lost in contemplation. “We still don’t know how Lance did it. They just.. they’re so fast, and they have such _small_ mouths.” Hunk sounds troubled.

“Did you eat the skittle?” Matt asks Lance. Adam hits him on the back of his head. The room, including Matt, silently indicate their approval of this punishment.

“It was a matter of pride,” Lance says, eyes glinting with righteousness and determination. “Too long we had suffered their rule. Too long we cowered in the shadows, waiting for those scuttling noises to stop. Too long we waited to use our own BBQ grill. No, it wasn’t a fight for a red skittle.” He shakes his head solemnly. “It was a fight for freedom. A revolution, if you will.”

“That’s so badass,” Keith says, looking at Lance. Lance looks back at him, blushing slightly, waving the praise off.

“God, that’s gross,” Hunk says, cheerfully.

“Their eyefucking is already giving me nausea,” Adam whines, turning to Shiro. “I can’t put up with this. Can’t you deny Lance Keith’s hand or something?”

“Bold of you to assume Lance is going to make the first move,” Hunk says, still looking at Keith and Lance staring soulfully at each other despite his increasing revulsion. “He was killing himself half an hour ago because he accidentally told the doorman he was fine when he asked for the time.” That makes Lance blush harder, breaking his gaze away from Keith to spread out on the couch again, and look at his favourite patch of the ceiling.

“Anxiety’s a stone cold serial killer, man,” Matt says, sagaciously sipping on his hot chocolate. “Last week, I knocked over my fork at a meeting, and was too embarrassed to ask for another, so I just stared at my food until it was time to leave.” He lets out a sad sigh. “It’s why I couldn’t come rob you.”

“Oh, hey, that’s okay,” Hunk comfortingly says. Adam pats Matt’s back, and Keith offers a shoulder squeeze.“It’s okay that you didn’t come rob us. We totally didn’t mind, did we, Lance?”

Lance nods vigorously. “Not at all, dude. It’s cool.”

They all pause as they hear sounds of someone stumbling into the apartment, turning their heads toward the door. They’re greeted with the sight of a beautiful blonde wrapped around an even more beautiful girl. “Hi!” Hunk says, hurrying to take the bag the blonde is holding. “This is Romelle, and this,” he points to the silver-haired one, “is Allura, our third roommate.” He gestures expansively to the room. “These are our thieves,” he introduces.

“Hello,” Romelle says, politely nodding. Allura lazily waves. They don’t hesitate to bundle themselves onto the floor near Hunk’s armchairs, plopping down on the ground without a second thought. Lesbians, indeed. Hunk flits about the room, picking up the coats and other paper bag the girls had shed. “This is Keith, who is white but not racist,” Hunk says, pointing him out. “He also fell in love with Lance after he heard the red skittle story.”

Romelle nods seriously at Keith. “A man of culture, then.”

“This is Matt, who can fit 17 marshmallows in his mouth, and has anxiety,” Hunk continues. (“See? _Hunk_ gets it,” Matt whispers to Shiro.) “Adam, who is possibly the sanest one here, and Shiro, who is the paragon of anti-racism. They’re Keith’s dads.”

“Brother and brother-in-law!” Keith squawks.

“Oh, are you married?” Allura asks.

Shiro smiles at Adam. “Not yet.” A round of various disgusted cries go up around the room.

“This is homophobia,” says Adam.

“We’re gay,” Romelle returns, taking a sip from Hunk’s abandoned mug. She grimaces. “That coffee is toxic.”

“You can’t tell me Keith and I are worse than that,” Lance tells Hunk, pointing at Shiro and Adam. Keith snaps his assent. Living with those two was like the sickest experience of all time. He’s about to voice this when they’re interrupted by an awful screeching from the fire escape.

Lance stands slowly, eyes locked on the window. “Plachu,” he hisses menacingly, rolling his sleeves up, and walking purposefully to where the noises are slowly fading. To his credit, the useless tugs on the still wet sleeves that are stuck to his skin and his marginally less disgusting wet sock squelches only slightly demean his threatening stance.

“Is he seriously wearing wet socks without throwing up in his own mouth?” Romelle whispers into the silence that has overtaken them as they watch Lance advance to his battle. Keith marks her down as his favourite mentally.

“He was trying to kill himself in the bathtub,” Hunk mumbles back distractedly, eyes still on Lance.

“The bathtub is so unneeded if he’s just going to down pills-” Allura starts, but shuts up when Lance jimmies the window open. Keith decides the lesbians are the sanest ones, thank you very much, Hunk.

“What the fuck?” Lance says, peering onto the fire escape. There’s a heavy pause, and Keith’s not certain any of them are breathing. Then Lance topples onto his ass and shrieks. It’s a piercing sound, and Keith is vaguely aware of Shiro by his side as they run to Lance. Lance is hyperventilating. “What the fuck did I just see?”

Keith hauls him up, winding an arm around Lance’s waist, and pulling Lance’s arm around his shoulders. He maybe leans into it more than necessarily required. Lance is wet and cold and really sort of beautiful up close.

Lance is watching Shiro pull a tiny body into the apartment. It’s wearing a huge, curly black wig and tight leather that looks, frankly, suffocating. Keith winces in sympathy. Shiro puts the person onto the ground, where Keith can see the heavy chains looped around a neck and huge hoop earrings. Wow, this person is re- wait. This person is- “Pidge?”

Pidge squints. “This is supposed to be a robbery.”

“Why are you dressed like Cher?” Shiro asks, exasperated. Ah, good. Seems like he’s finally got the _be_ _cool_ memo Keith has been projecting his way for the past half an hour. Projecting the past ten years, really, Keith amends.

“It’s obviously my disguise,” Pidge replies, putting on her glasses. “Ah, finally, vision.” She pauses, looking at where Lance is still unnecessarily propped up on Keith’s shoulder. “I thought you were, like, a thirteen year old girl.”

“It was a manly scream,” Lance sniffs.

“Who’s Cher?” Keith asks. He’s met with three incredulous looks, and what sound like the words ‘uncultured swine’ under Pidge’s breath. Lance shakes his head in a why-am-I-attracted-to-you manner. Keith is acquainted with that look. He’s been getting to know it quite well since he walked into that bathroom.

Shiro leads them back to the main room, where Matt has relocated to Keith’s spot on the couch. There is also two previously unseen bowls of popcorn. “Aw, we were getting ready for something ridiculously embarrassing,” Matt complains. “Not some knockoff Cher dwarf.”

“This is your sister,” Keith tells Matt, nudging Pidge in front of him. Ha, how’s that for embarrassing? Keith and Lance tangle themselves onto the other half of the couch, arms still slung around each other, because Lance is still reeling from the shock of seeing the gremlin dressed in drag. Obviously. He also smells good. Keith leans into him a little more.

“Where did you get the costume from?” asks Adam, disapprovingly. He shifts as Shiro reclaims his spot next to him on the loveseat. “Did they not tell you that making a Cher impression is impossible without any makeup?”

“Is this what white culture is?” Allura whispers to Hunk. Hunk pats her shoulder reassuringly, moving to meet their new guest.

“You’re in time, we were just making introductions,” he says to Pidge, by way of greeting. “I’m Hunk, and these are my roommates, Lance and Allura. That’s Allura’s girlfriend, Romelle. I’m sure you know the people you were plotting a crime with. Can I get you some tea?”

“Tea sounds great,” she nods at Hunk. “As for the crime...” she trails off, glancing significantly at the loveseat.

Shiro waves a hand. “That’s all on hold for now.”

“We saved Lance from killing himself,” Keith explains.

“Interrupted,” Lance grumbles. Keith feels the vibrations in his right side from Lance’s words. His brain short-circuits a lot.

“How come you’re so late to this? Shouldn’t you all be timing yourselves a bit better?” Romelle asks, sounding a little too judgemental for Keith’s taste.

“Hey, we’re good thieves!” Matt exclaims, affronted. “We’re in your house, aren’t we?”

Pidge sighs, throwing her wig and leathers behind the couch, revealing her normal shorts and shirt. (“How did she fit those under the skin-tight leather?” Lance asks. “Really? _This_ is when you start asking questions?” Allura responds.) She shoves Matt closer to Keith to take a place on the edge of the couch. “They wouldn’t let me come because apparently, I’m too young,” she tells Romelle, aiming the last part at Adam and Shiro.

“Hey, I said it would be better because you’re a juvenile,” objects Shiro. “Lesser sentence,” he explains to the rest of the room’s horrified expressions. They shrug, mollified.

“I just needed to make sure they hadn’t been brutally murdered, y’know. Thanks,” Pidge adds to Hunk, taking a wine glass filled with tea. Wow, Hunk must be running out of tableware.

“How were you planning to drag their bodies out?” Hunk asks, flicking Allura’s hand away from his now cold cup as he sat into his armchair.

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t. What?” she asks at their affronted expressions. “I would have just taken the books and left. If I wanted to be indicted, I wouldn’t have bothered with the get up.”

“You should be indicted _for_ the getup,” Matt mutters.

“Oh, so they were stealing the books for you?” Lance asks.

“For me,” Keith answers, looking down at Lance, who is now using Keith’s arm as a pillow. Lance looks at him from under his eyelashes. “Astrophysics major, huh?”

“Ew,” Pidge says, looking at this interaction. She glares at Adam and Shiro. “Who decided to get Keith a boyfriend?” Keith hopes Lance can’t feel the flush that physically overtakes him.

“Everyone is equally disgusted with this development,” Adam informs Pidge.

“Astrophysics was the worst decision of my life,” Allura says to Keith and Pidge.

“Living was the worst decision of my life,” Shiro says to the room at large.

“Blowing the Chuck E. Cheese mascot in uniform was the worst decision of mine,” Matt says, crunching on some popcorn. They all turn to stare at him. Hunk opens his mouth, thinks, then closes it. “What? I thought we all were bonding!”

“I did not need to know that.” Pidge looks vaguely sick. Good. Keith doesn’t deserve to suffer alone. He glances longingly at the half full glass of lemonade on the table, next to one of the overflowing bowls of popcorn. He compensates by burying his nose in Lance’s illegally soft hair.

“None of us needed to know that,” Romelle corrects.

“Now you all know my greatest success and my greatest failure,” Matt shrugs. “At least I’m being open about my feelings. I don’t see any of _you_ even trying in this relationship.”

“I’m going to regret asking this,” Pidge starts, “but what is your greatest success?”

“Fitting 17 marshmallows in his mouth,” say Shiro, Hunk, and Allura tiredly.

“This therapy sucks, and I want a refund,” Lance declares. “I can’t believe I gave up dying for this. That’s the worst decision of my life.”

“Letting Adam and Shiro convince me cowboys were cool is my worst decision,” Keith mutters.

Adam snorts. “Oh, that was my best decision, personally. He wore boots with spurs for a whole semester in middle school. I took pictures every single day.” He sounds a little too happy about this for Keith’s liking.

“Hey, Adam, remember that time you kissed the door jamb because you-”

“Finish that sentence, and I will make sure Lance sees every video of you saying ‘yee -haw’ that exists,” Adam hisses. Keith shuts up.

Lance leans forward. “I’m interested in joining your theft cult.”

“It’s not a cult yet.” Pidge says, a little remorsefully.

“I can stitch some cool logos onto your jackets,” Romelle offers. “I’m great at sewing.”

“And scissoring,” Allura smiles. A third round of revulsed protests fill up the room. Wow, these people really had no personal boundaries. Keith is almost a little endeared.

“What would the logo be, though?” Hunk asks, forever the voice of reason.

“A raccoon with a big red cancel sign on it,” Lance replies immediately.

“You want to steal everything except a raccoon?” Pidge asks, titling her head to look at Lance. She considers this, then shrugs. “There have been worse ideologies.”

“Capitalism,” says Shiro gravely. They all pause their eating to let out murmurs of bow their head in grief.

“Lance fights raccoons,” Keith tells Pidge. “It’s kind of badass.”

“That makes me badass, too,” Matt points out. “I’ve fought Pidge most of my life, and that’s practically the same thing.”

“I will end your existence,” Pidge tells him.

Matt looks his sister in the eye, and takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. “I beg of you.”

“What do you do?” Adam asks Romelle, in all his infinite wisdom, ignoring Matt. “We’ve been so impolite, breaking into your house and talking about ourselves the whole time.”

“I curl up under my blankets and try to forget I’m alive,” Romelle answers, shifting from the floor to grab at the bowl of popcorn Matt put down. “Sometimes I order pizza.”

“What kind?” Lance asks, apparently remembering he’s hungry as he dislodges himself from Keith to reach for the other bowl of popcorn. Keith could kiss him for that. Keith could kiss him anything, really.

“Hawaiian,” Hunk replies with a shudder.

“Oh, god,” Lance says, looking a little sick. He hugs the bowl to his chest, looking at Romelle with a miserable expression. “I trusted you. I showed you my My Little Pony collection!”

“It’s not like she said she puts her cereal before milk! Besides,” Allura says, looking as if she’s bracing herself for an onslaught, her voice getting smaller, “pineapple topping isn’t that bad.”

“Traitor!” Lance gasps. Hunk clutches his chest in a very afflicted manner, gulping down large sips of his drink.

“We threw Shiro out of the flat the one time he tried to order pineapple on pizza,” Keith inputs. “In case you’re taking suggestions.”

“Yeah, a hundred percent success rate. That was the best decision of _my_ life,” Pidge announces, setting her empty wine glass on the coffee table.

“I own the apartment,” Shiro says, indignantly. “You didn’t do shit.”

“You really didn’t,” Adam says. “The only reason he didn’t order it was because I told him I’d make his iPod play Kanye songs on repeat.”

“Have you really still not figured out technology yet?” Matt asks Shiro.

Shiro’s justification at being a old man is halted at the sound of something heavy colliding with glass. “Is- is that Plachu?” Keith asks softly, suddenly understanding why the roommates are terrified of the raccoon.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” Lance says, looking at Keith fondly. The sound of something cluttering to the ground follows.

“That’s just Allura’s crazy ex, Lotor,” Romelle explains. “He throws rocks at their window every other night.”

“Oh, wow, it is getting very late if Lotor’s already here,” Hunk says, moving to gather the cutlery scattered around them. “It’s two a.m.”

“He is weirdly punctual,” Lance agrees, heaving himself off the couch, still wet in some places. His socks, thank God, Keith notices, are no longer squelching.

“We really should get going,” Adam says, pushing Shiro and Matt up with him. Pidge stands, too. “It’s way past Pidge and Keith’s bedtime.”

“Ew,” Pidge says. Keith nods his approval at this concise interpretation.

The group makes their way towards the door as one. Keith can hear them arguing about good child rearing practices in the background, more focused on Lance’s hand around his wrist as they near the hallway. They stop near the door. Keith shuffles. “So, uh,” he tells his feet. “Same time next week?”

He looks up when Lance tugs at his hand. Lance’s smile takes up his whole face when he says, “I think I’ll be free.” God, Keith never wants to look away from that expression on Lance’s face. He bets he could find galaxies in those eyes, and what he wouldn’t give to map out constellations in-

“Yep, I’m free.” Matt raises a hand.

“I think I’ll be able to make it, too,” Romelle says excitedly.

“I’m in,” Keith hears Pidge confirm, as he turns back to Lance. “That means you losers have to come, too,” she assumedly tells Shiro and Adam.

The smile hasn’t faded from Lance’s face. Keith’s going to keep chalking these down as wins. He smiles the rest of the walk back to the car, mind on Lance’s parting grin accompanied by that endearing wave. He nearly walks into Pidge, who has stopped in the middle of the pavement. “Shiro,” she calls out to where Shiro and Adam are walking hand-in-hand ahead of them. “Where the _fuck_ are the deGrasse Tyson texts?”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic sprouted out of nowhere and possessed me into writing it. I think it’s very apt that this is my first contribution to the Voltron fandom. You can find me on Tumblr at [bluestruckholly ](%E2%80%9Chttp//:bluestrucklumiere.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)to shit on me.


End file.
